


Feathered Fucks

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Avians, Dragons, M/M, Magic, Politics Suck, Time Masters are Dicks, oh my!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:09:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6812644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick has known the son of the fearsome Odette since his teens. He's a dick.</p><p>Doesn't mean Mick won't help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathered Fucks

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if you guys know this or not, but swans are fucking vicious. If Odette really was turned into a swan, she wouldn't have killed herself; she would've FUCKED SHIT UP. So she's a queen in this, and one who FUCKED LEWIS UP
> 
> This is for shutupikol on Tumblr. They don't have an Ao3 account, so I'm putting the dedication here :D I hope you like it, dear!

The Patriarchy likes to ignore the existence of Queen Odette and her kingdom, 'cause Great Flyer forbid a woman defend herself. Honestly, it's not her fault the sorcerer cursed her to be a  _swan_ of all things. No matter how nice you are, being a swan after a long period of time can mess with you. She's right up there in Mick's Top 5 Most Terrifying Women. Or maybe it should be 4, since there's an empty slot at 5. But he digresses.

Point is, you don't mess with Queen Odette. Last time someone did that, it was her own husband. The late King Lewis thought he could abuse their children while she was away for some years negotiating peace treaties with other kingdoms. When she came back...let's just say there's a  _reason_ King Lewis is called the "late king" and leave it at that.

Now, Mick's been in her presence a number of times over the years. Since he successfully defeated his parents in a battle for the throne, he got to celebrate his coronation with her in attendance. She also attended his parents' funeral, which was a nice gesture on the side. Still, that doesn't mean he's any less intimidated when he's escorted into her throne room once again.

The steward calls out his long list of titles. Normally Mick would grin along with the many rankings and victories listed, but Queen Odette is staring him down with her icy gaze that never,  _never_ gets less menacing overtime. She's beautiful as always, silver diadem inlaid with sapphires woven into her dark hair with all its chain trimmings, with earrings and a great necklace to match adorning her pale neck and ears. Little blue rhinestones smatter her cheeks, a tradition among the nobility of her people. Her dress is bright blue, tied with a navy sash around her waist and opening in a V to reveal dyed feathers of the same dark shade. She's probably eighty-nine years old, yet she looks no older than twenty; that's magic for you.

When she stands, her shining silver cape catches the sun. With the added effect of her lily white wings, Mick's almost blinded.

"Mikel," she says. Her voice drapes thick over the vaulted ceilings and polished, smooth swan mosaics that make the floor, despite its sweet, high ringing timbre. "Pleasant winds to you."

 _Ugh_. Mick  _hates_ formal pleasantries. Does nobody know that dragons aren't ones for talk? You roar, you throw a gem at your host, and with any luck, you get a good fight out of it too. That's it; that's dragon politics. Anyone who says shit about dragons being masters of words and shit have clearly spent too much time with griffins; there's maybe two dragons Mick's met who are clever manipulators, and surprise-surprise, they're both politicians.

Again he digresses. Quietly clearing his throat, Mick inclines his head and grunts, "And to you, Your Majesty."

Usually he forgets the "Your Majesty" part, yet he doubts he ever will for Queen Odette. She also inclines her head, though her movements are far more graceful; swans are easy to piss off but damn are they pretty.

"Thank you for flying here on such short notice," she says, practically floating across the room towards him, "and I see you have brought your ward. Hello, young dragon."

When he's given a permissive nod, Jax bows a little at the waist. "Jefferson, Your Majesty. It's an honor to meet you."

Queen Odette smiles at him, all pearly white and sharpened teeth. Mick's pretty sure Jax's knees are shaking; he does not judge him  _at all_.

"Walk with me, Mikel," the queen says, already leading the way to the large doors, "we have much to discuss."

* * *

The castle's surrounded by beautiful green woods and glossy lakes. Queen Odette takes her guests to the back gardens, where the lake reserved for her and her family's personal use is located. The gardens start at a grand pavilion, winding down to many stone paths surrounded by expertly carved stone statues and kaleidoscope of shimmering blossoms and trees.

Jax, who's never seen so much verdure before, has to be nudged by Mick so he doesn't catch flies. Their land, at least Mick's region, is more rocky mountains and sturdy shrubs. The landscape alone is a huge culture shock.

Queen Odette glances at the sky, which has somehow clouded over in the last few minutes (another reason why Mick can't stand the Northlands: the weather can change in a snap). She seems almost...troubled.

If  _she_ of all people is troubled, then something is definitely wrong.

Before Mick can venture to ask, she speaks: "Mikel, I'm afraid I must ask you for a favor, one I know that your people are unaccustomed to. Believe me when I say I would spare you from my request if I could, but there is nothing for it."

Mick shares a hard glance with Jax. "What is it, Majesty?"

Queen Odette sighs. For a moment, she almost looks her age. "I trust your brother has informed you of the," she pauses, as if casting for the right word, "situation regarding Vandal Savage's final death?"

How could he not? Kronos gave him a fuckin' earful. "The royals he tried to kill assassinated him instead," Mick recounts, "but they disappeared."

The queen nods, finishing, "And now his council is warring over who gets the throne. Most predict that Druce will win. He has no business ruling a kingdom, or anything for that matter," she adds in a swan's hiss, feathers ruffling.

Mick's eyes narrow a fraction. "What does this have to do with me?"

Queen Odette regains her composure in one fluid breath. "I have met Druce on many occasions. He is not to be underestimated. I know that, should he win the crown, he will set his sights on my kingdom first. Now I am fit for war, Mikel, like you, but not for diplomacy. Those peace treaties I secured were through the same methods I employed in your land."

Duels, tournaments, challenges, attrition, all promising riches and final outcomes, and all concluding in the participants bathing in their enemies' blood. Best week Mick's had in ages.

"And," Queen Odette continues, "Druce will be able to twist his words and make me appear to be the enemy, even to my own people. My daughter Liselle is far better at negotiations, and I am certain she can prevent this from happening. My son is also extremely talented with words, but such chaotic times are no place for a man, and Druce will snatch him up the moment he sees an opening."

That's happened before. The Vanished so enjoy a union; it's one of the only ways they can manifest indefinitely. Mick's known Prince Leonard since he was sixteen, Len fourteen. He's a fucking dick and probably one of the only creatures Mick could seriously consider a friend—best friend, even.

So, while Mick has a terribly creeping suspicion of where this conversation's headed, he plays dumb and asks, "Then you want me to keep him with me until this blows over?"

Queen Odette's mouth twists a little, like she knows Mick knows what her request is and doesn't appreciate the stall. Mick feels inexplicably ashamed of himself.

"Druce will see that as cowardly on my part," she says. "No. It must be a more...permanent solution."

Jax thoughtlessly interrupts: "You want him to marry your son."

Thankfully, Queen Odette has a soft spot for young ones. "Indeed, Jefferson." she looks to Mick. "Indeed."

They reach the lake at last. In its center is tree bent slightly to the left, reddish twisted trunk stark against its vivid green leaves, resting on a small grassy island. A few fish appear towards the surface before darting away again.

Gliding softly across the water, neck curled over between his wings, is a large swan. A silver circlet embroidered with snowflakes, after his mother season of winter, adorns his sleek round head.

"Leonard," Queen Odette calls, "wake up, dear one. Mikel is here."

Mick's got a feeling Len knew when he landed down to the second. Nevertheless, the swan makes a show of gradually waking, taking the acorn-sized sapphire tied around his neck by a blue ribbon in his beak so he can turn it back over his chest. He hurries up when Mick smirks at him and mouths,  _Good morning, Princey_ , taking flight quickly after righting himself.

As he descends on the shore, his pendant glows, enveloping him in its light. His shape thins and grows, until he is landing on the grass on two human feet.

"Mick," he says, "it's been a while."

Oh yeah. Like Len hasn't been writing to him for months.  _Swans_.

Queen Odette interrupts any reply Mick might've given (which is probably for the best), "Mikel, I understand if you need to think this through or discuss it with my son."

Predictably Len instantly snaps, "I ain't going anywhere, Mother."

"I am  _not_ ," Queen Odette habitually corrects before adding, "and yes you are, whether Mikel accepts or not."

"All do respect, there's no chance I'm leaving you or my baby sister to those monsters. Who're you?"

Len's already noticed Jax; he just wanted to ensure his mother couldn't refute him right away, giving his words more authority. He really is very good at twisting debates to his favor. If he were a woman, he'd make a great diplomat under his mother. Probably not a queen, though—Len's got too much crook in him.

Mick jerks his head at Jax, "That egg I chose to take in hatched a couple months back. His dam managed to name him Jefferson before she died."

Len hums. "Tell me,  _Jefferson_ : would you allow your adopted sire to bind you to someone overseas while there was an imminent war coming for him?"

Jax, the idiot, cries, "No!"

At least Kronos pounded some kind of filter into his brother before they separated. Mick says nothing about how much he agrees with Jax.

Instead he tells Queen Odette, "I'll do it."

It's pretty comical, the way Len's eyes bug out of his head and his jaw drops. Jax looks pretty hilarious too.

Queen Odette, however, looks positively radiant. Mick's never seen such a sincere, well-meaning smile touch her lips. She reaches out and takes Mick's hands.

"I am honored to welcome you as my son," she says.

* * *

So Lenny's pissed.

The second they're alone to  _bond_ before the wedding, the avian nearly shits feathers charging the dragon. He lands a mean right hook, knocking Mick's teeth together.

Mick can't fight in human bones nearly as well as Kronos, but he can certainly pin Len under his knee. Len's hissing and squirming the second he lands hard on his stomach. He flaps his wings so hard that Mick has to spit feathers.

"I could fight you all day," Mick snarls, "but for once, I'm the one who's got a plan. You wanna hear it or not?"

Len manages to shove him away. "If it's  _your_ plan, I don't wanna hear it."

"Well ain't that nice of you," Mick bites back, "even though it was  _my_ plan that saved your life when we met!"

"Ramming black swans blind doesn't count as a plan!"

"Then what the fuck did  _you_ just do, huh?"

Len seethes. "This isn't happening,  _Mick_. We've certainly had a  _lucrative_ relationship, but I'd sooner kill you myself than be dragged off as nothing but a  _trophy_ ," he spits.

Mick snaps his wings out and growls, "That what you really think I'd do? Treat you like some unpolished  _nothing_?"

He can see why Len'd assume that would be his role. Dragons don't often use the shapes their magic allows them for extrabreeding; when they do, though, their mate is usually considered a rare prize they have won. Most outsiders think of that in the material sense, not in the way it actually is—dragons treasure their permanent mates as a human would their true love, or whatever kinda poetic shit you want.

Len shuts his eyes. Mick can almost see him compartmentalizing. Cautiously, they fold their wings and loosen their stances.

When hard eyes are back on Mick again, Len says, "You have a habit of being unpredictable, Mick. It's in your blood."

"Yeah, which is why I'm getting my brother the fuck outta the Vanishing Point and dragging both your asses back to mine so we can figure out how to murder that son of a bitch!"

Len stiffens again. "Is that so?"

"Fuck's sake, Len. When have I ever run from a fight?"

Len glances down at his polished black boots. "That's true." When he looks up, his familiar smirk finally shows up. "And what about  _Jax_?"

Mick scoffs, "Knew you'd gotten that letter."

"I knew you were coming. Didn't think it'd be very prudent to write back."

"'Course not...turns out Jax has merging potential. Soon as he's with the right candidate, he flies with us."

Len raises an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to expect widower status in a few years?"

Aw, he's  _worried._ Mick smirks, "Jax would rather breathe underwater the rest of his life than take control. 'S why I sired a new egg two weeks ago."

Len's eyes flash. "Did you now?"

"Relax, Snowflake. Pretty soon I'm  _all_ yours." Mick grins at the harsh glare he gets. "So how's that for a plan?"

The avian hums. His posture bleeds aloof carelessness, but there's a coiled spring in his bones that Mick's learned to detect. "Your brother and I don't exactly see eye to eye."

They're not even mated yet, but the idea of Len getting into another vicious fight with Kronos has Mick's wings rising from their folded position. "He can't touch you," he snaps, "no one can."

Len glides across the room in a way that's reminiscent of his mother—sadly there's too much arrogant dick in his step to really pull it off—so he can take a fistful of Mick's thick fur collar.

"Careful, husband-to-be," he says, "war hasn't even started yet."

They grin at each other with feral anticipation. All that's missing, Mick thinks, is the blood in their teeth.

Oh yeah. This is gonna be fun.

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE TO STOP HERE OR IT'S GONNA BLOW UP
> 
> I went with Kronos instead of Chronos because he's a dragon and a representative, not a creature under the Time Masters' thumbs.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
